


Why am I Like This? (Why am I Selfish)

by MalecAcid



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because when is anything i write not???, Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Ben Hargreeves-centric, Beware, Character Study, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Incest, POV Ben Hargreeves, POV Third Person, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, this is v sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalecAcid/pseuds/MalecAcid
Summary: On the lucky days, the only pain that he would experience were dull cramps that the Horror gave him or something minor, like sickness. Reginald didn't make him train on the days that he was sick.He wished that he was sick, most days.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Why am I Like This? (Why am I Selfish)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so!!! I'm immediately going into trigger warnings for this bc it's v important so please read these 
> 
> ‼️Warning for self-harm, suicidal thoughts, death mention, knives and child abuse‼️
> 
> The title is from the song Sharpener by Cavetown, but warning, it is a very possibly triggering song
> 
> So!!!! This fic is very sad, and I'm sad, but please I cannot stress this enough do not read this if you think that you will be triggered by it or it will hurt you in any way!! Please stay safe and be careful while reading if you do decide to!! 
> 
> Anyways I hope that you like it!!

Pain was a thing that Ben quickly grew used to. 

For as long as he could remember, pain was a thing that he experienced daily. Usually it was the stabbing, sharp, continuous pain of the Horrors tentacles piercing through his stomach at his fathers command, and other days it would be a hard slap of his hand or a quick tap of his cane that left the area throbbing and bruised. 

On the lucky days, the only pain that he would experience were dull cramps that the Horror gave him or something minor, like sickness. Reginald didn't make him train on the days that he was sick. 

He wished that he was sick, most days. 

That wasn't the extent of the pain that Ben experienced, though. Physical pain was what he quickly grew used to, but he found that mental and emotional pain was much harder to deal with as a whole. 

It was so easy to forget and not think about how many people he was killing while the Horror was out and about, causing him physical pain that was so excruciating he couldn't focus on anything else. It was a lot easier to actually think about what had happened, what he'd done, when he was lying in bed later that night, crying himself to sleep. 

In the beginning, it was hard for him to stop the tears from flowing when he would do something as simple as stubbing a toe, or tripping and falling to the ground. But eventually, as time went on, all of his tears available for that kind of pain dried up. By the time he was thirteen, he didn't even feel the need to cry at those times anymore. Crying over something that you experienced so often was exhausting, Ben quickly found out. It was much, much easier, to block the tears and spare them for another time.

That other time usually came at night. 

Sometimes he wasn't able to fall asleep. He would lie in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, exhausted, and waiting for his dreams and nightmares to overtake his conciousness. Some nights, they never did. 

Those nights were the hardest. He could cry, and cry, and cry with all the tears that he had spared from the pain before, but it would never be enough. Whatever possible being that might've been out there that could help him, didn't, and he felt completely and utterly alone. 

He always got so, so tired of crying, but for some reason, those nights, when he was deep into his thoughts, he just couldn't stop. Every method he used when he experienced physical pain had failed, and he just didn't _understand_. Where was the switch he could flip to change his emotions at a moment's notice? Where was the blank and numb facial expression that was free of tears? It was all pain, so it should've been the same. It hurt so much, and it made him start to wonder if his "lucky days" were really lucky at all. 

Some days, on the really bad ones, the ones where the pain was all consuming, the ones where it was all he could think about, the ones where he would be choking on sobs long after his tears ran out due to dehydration, he would look at the drawer of his desk, where he had long ago stashed a knife, and think. 

The thoughts never lasted that long, though. They would come to mind as his eyes glanced around the room before coming to focus on that one drawer, and then he would quickly shake his head, turn to lay on his stomach, and bury his head info his pillow to further muffle his already quiet sobs. 

It was hard not to think about how easy it would be. Every day after the first time he had a thought like that, it got harder and harder to look away from that one drawer. 

One day, he even got up from his bed, walked to his desk, and opened up the drawer, pulling the knife out and gripping the handle tightly. He stood there for only a few seconds, staring at it, before fully realizing what he'd done and throwing it back inside, quickly slamming it shut. 

That was on one of his worse days. 

On those really, really bad days, it was almost impossible to see past the pure want that he felt, the want to just get rid of it, to be rid of the pain, or to finally grow used to it just as be had the physical aspect. 

Distraction was one of the easiest ways to ignore the pain, Ben found out one day. All he had done was roll quickly over in the bed, accidentally and painfully slamming his hand onto the wall beside it. 

He had hissed, biting his lip as he watched the area slowly turn purple. It was only hours later when he realized that he had stopped crying immediately, that he had been fully distracted from his thoughts that seemed to assault him almost every night. 

After that, distraction of any form was what Ben used to get away from his thoughts. On good days, all it took was a good book to get his tears to slow. But on the bad ones, there was nothing Ben could do but slam his head or hand or arm against the wall and poke the bruises that appeared soon afterwards. 

He figured that it was a good deal. He was able to stop crying, to stop thinking, and he eventually learned that bruising himself higher up on his arm got less in his way during training than the bruising on his hand did. It would also be harder to notice if his siblings suddenly decided to care about him. 

Maybe Ben didn't grow used to the mental pain that he experienced. It was hard, with how often his brain would throw horrible thoughts and images at him, impossible, almost. It wasn't good, he wouldn't have even called it okay, but it was _something _.__

__Pain was a daily thing that he had experienced, and it was tiring, exhausting. He had been done with it for a long time._ _

__The first thing that he felt after he died was relief. He had thought, finally, it's over. Finally, no more pain, no more of the Horror, no more Reginald._ _

__He had guessed that it must have been impossible to feel pain without a physical body, without a vessel to hold your soul._ _

__You can imagine his surprise, and disappointment, when he eventually realized that the mental pain never left, and never would._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Suicide and self-harm hotlines: 
> 
> US: 18002738255  
> UK: 08457909090 
> 
> I hope that you liked!!


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